Her Smile Held Summer
by heteroceric-heart
Summary: Link/Zelda AU. You didn’t expect to stay long, but then again, you never expected to meet her.


**patina** \PAT-n-uh; puh-TEEN-uh\

_noun_:  
**1.** The color or incrustation which age gives to works of art; especially, the green rust which covers ancient bronzes, coins, and medals.  
**2.** The sheen on any surface, produced by age and use.  
**3.** An appearance or aura produced by habit, practice, or use.  
**4.** A superficial layer or exterior.

* * *

**Her Smile Held Summer**

If you were the kind who wrote on the back of pictures and meticulously recorded the timeline of your life, right now you'd be tearing your hair out. Try as you may, you cannot seem to pull up the numbers that would tell you the exact date. You can remember the year (barely), and you have vague recollections of summer. The trouble is, you don't remember exactly _when_ it started.

But maybe that's no trouble at all, really. Some things are better left outside of time.

* * *

You think you remember it being summer because the sun (and oh the humidity) pulsed down on your neck unforgivably. Between the throng of commuters and the heat radiating from black pavement, you were practically cooking in your own clothes. As you walked (well, _pushed_ is more like it) through the crowd, visions of your cool, air-conditioned apartment flashed tauntingly in your mind. You made it worse, really, by conjuring images of pressing an ice-filled glass to the back of your neck while the air-conditioner strained to reach full blast.

Needless to say, you were quite uncomfortable in the sweltering sun. When the next diner reared around the corner, you stepped in (only for a moment) to quench your thirst and let your hot skin soak up some of the cool air.

You didn't expect to stay long, but then again, you never expected to meet _her_.

Admittedly, she didn't catch your attention at first. When you sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of water (and don't skimp on the ice) from her, you didn't even take time to read her name badge. Right then, all that mattered was the sun outside and your terribly parched throat.

Even after the cold liquid had satiated your thirst and you gained eyes again, she was nothing spectacular. Her blonde (and, you presumed, _dyed_) hair was thrown back into a messy bun, and her face was a mask of caked-on makeup. Her chipped nails jotted down orders while she smacked a piece of gum between her teeth. Really, she should have just faded into the back of your mind.

But there was _something_ that caught your eye. As you surreptitiously watched her attend to the nearly-empty diner, you kept trying to realize what it was about her that fascinated you.

Eventually, she came and talked to you. Today was slow because of the heat, she explained, and you two engaged in small talk for a few minutes.

Her eyes, you thought to yourself, trying to guess. But, no, it wasn't her eyes; lovely shade that they were, they were empty, shining vases (of which there might once have been flowers, but now there was only the idea, the speculation).

By chance, you happened to mention a book you'd just read and greatly enjoyed. You'd asked her if she'd ever read it and if she liked it as much as you had.

And, goddesses, you were mesmerized.

A smile effloresced on her face as she shyly (dipping her toes in the water to check the temperature) outlined her thoughts on the novel.

You realized what it was that had caught you then. This smile was not the routine, overly-cheery one she flashed to customers. This smile was full of life, sparked from something that really mattered to her. And as she expanded her earlier ideas (jumping unabashedly into the sea), she in her entirety became _alive_. In front of your astounded eyes, blue forget-me-nots bloomed from the empty water of her eyes, and you silently promised yourself to only that scent.

You began to wonder what else lurked behind the front she kept up day-to-day, and you realized it was this curiosity that had led you to her in the first place.

Somewhat belatedly, you noticed her name badge and knew her name: Zelda. You used her name during the conversation, and she realized she didn't know yours. With a little laugh (it reminded you of wind chimes), she asked for your name. You introduced yourself as Link, and she pondered it briefly.

She excused herself in order to take care of a customer who had just wandered in, and you immediately missed her. You told yourself it was absurd to become so attached to someone so quickly, but you drowned those thoughts with a final gulp of ice water.

Not a moment later, you got a call from your roommate, wondering where you were. You both were supposed to watch a movie that night, as the weather permitted little else. So, you stood from your seat and gave a farewell wave to Zelda.

She smiled, but it wasn't a smile.

As you left, you'd wondered if you'd somehow lost permission to see the real her, and a part of you was greatly discouraged. The majority of your mind, however, promised to elicit that life-giving smile from her again.

* * *

The next time you saw her might have been a Tuesday, but you aren't quite sure. You do know that the weather (after a brief, cool spell) had reverted back into sulking humidity. You ventured out that night with hope that the diner would once again be relatively empty. You weren't sure if she was working that night, but you thought you had a pretty good chance of seeing her.

Well, after three other failed visits that week (an absurd aspect of you wondered if she'd even been real), part of you thought you _deserved_ to see her again.

You sat down at the bar again, and you were pleased to note that only two other people were in the diner with you.

As Zelda walked over to take your order, you smiled and greeted her.

For a moment, she paused, trying to remember you. Finally, a smile crossed her features. It was a pale imitation of the one you'd seen before, but you drank it in all the same.

You ordered something more substantial this time (as an excuse both to stay longer and give her a healthy tip) and, once again, you both got to talking.

At the end of a satisfying conversation, you nearly asked her to a movie or dinner, but you stopped yourself just in time. You didn't want to startle her away.

* * *

Things escalated from there. You saw her more often, and you became one of the regulars at the diner. Sometimes you weren't served by Zelda, but more often than not she made sure to greet you. You two talked when lack of other customers permitted it, but sometimes you could only get a hasty greeting in edgewise.

One day, it dawned on you that you were beginning to matter to her. That same, rare smile reserved for things held within her shell began to surface whenever she saw you. She trusted you, and you were thrilled by it. Carefully, you began to venture further into that dark armor.

You casually mentioned once that she'd look better with less makeup on. You thought afterward that she might be offended, and you mentally kicked yourself. She must have listened to you, though, because the next time you saw her, she'd toned down her look considerably.

Without that layer of cosmetics clinging to her skin, she almost seemed to be lighter.

That one bold move beget yet another. After finishing your meal one night (it might have been…no, it must have been a Friday), you asked her to see a movie with you that weekend. For a moment you feared she'd drag you to the hospital instead, as you were sure she could hear how rapidly your heart was pumping.

She just smiled in affirmation, though, and it was all you could have ever needed.

* * *

Somewhere along the line, you became her boyfriend. You never said anything official; it just sort of happened (not that you were complaining, anyhow). You shared your first date, your first late-night drive, your first time holding hands, your first kiss. You remember seeing her hair (which was _definitely_ a natural blonde) down for the first time and how your fingers ached to run through it. You couldn't really tell the exact date of whenever each event happened, though. She was the fountain of youth, the elixir of life, and you felt entirely new every time you drank from her smile. With her, you could have been reliving the same day over and over without knowing it.

She was something new every day; there seemed to be no end to the surprising pieces of her still shrouded in shadows. There was still something big you didn't know, and though you felt its absence, you couldn't name it. She'd hidden behind her armor for so long that sometimes she didn't even realize she was wearing it, you guessed. You figured you'd figure her out one day.

* * *

Unfortunately, it seems her shell couldn't completely protect her from the world.

You went to the diner one day, a day you knew she was scheduled to work, and waited for her. You don't know how long you waited there before a fellow waitress told you Zelda was in the hospital. She'd been hit by another car.

* * *

You couldn't remember the drive there. A part of you had gone numb, and you thought it was miraculous you'd made it to the hospital without swerving off the road. Then you refuted the mere presence of miracles. After all, a world where Zelda could get injured had long since died to the attention of the goddesses.

You remember hating the nameless driver who had hurt her. If you'd been able, you'd probably have tracked the person down and given them what for. As it was, though, you managed to content yourself with shredding the corner of a newspaper as you waited for news of Zelda.

When you were finally admitted to her room, you remember thinking belatedly that you should have gotten her roses or something to comfort her. You decided those could wait, though, and you sat down in a chair across from her bed.

She was lucky, you remember the nurse saying. As you traced Zelda's weak, bruised smile with your fingers, you wondered how anyone could justify her situation as lucky. You wondered angrily how the nurse had the _gall _to claim that seeing the love of your life stitched up and bruised was considered lucky.

Then you thought about what you'd accidentally admitted to yourself, and for a moment you were terrified.

You weren't the type who loved. You were the type who held fascinations, who tried to solve the puzzles of a woman until there was no mystery left. And so you chalked it up to the raw emotion of the moment and thought nothing of it.

* * *

You came with roses the next day and put them by the window. Zelda thanked you for them, and at first things seemed normal. You two talked like you normally did, and you did your best to cheer Zelda up.

Then Zelda cried.

As you held her and tried to soothe her shaking body, you realized _this_ was what she had been keeping from you. You'd seen her angry, you'd seen her happy, you'd seen her melancholic, but you had never _ever_ seen her sad. _This_ was the last piece of the puzzle.

You should have felt some sort of sad accomplishment, like you did with all the others. You should have gently disentangled yourself from her and moved on to the next challenge.

But you didn't.

Instead, you kissed the top of Zelda's head and told her you loved her.

And, goddesses help you, you _know_ that you meant it.


End file.
